


All These Crimson Threads

by is_that_charlie_scene, TheScienceofDevotion



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock BBC, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: AU, Akita dogs, Alex Moran-Moriarty - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Andrew Scott - Freeform, Angst, Animals, Benedict Cumberbatch - Freeform, Brace yourselves, Dogs, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Greg Lestrade - Freeform, Hamish - Freeform, Hamish Watson-Holmes - Freeform, Hospitals, Implied MorMor, Jim Moriarty - Freeform, John Watson is so bi, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, Louise Brealey - Freeform, M/M, Mark Gatiss - Freeform, Molly Hooper - Freeform, Moriarty - Freeform, Mycroft Holmes - Freeform, OCs - Freeform, Parentlock, Parentlock/Johnlock, Rupert Graves - Freeform, Sherlock - Freeform, Sherlock Holmes John Watson - Freeform, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Angst, So much angst, Victoria - Freeform, Victoria Watson-Holmes - Freeform, Watson-Holmes, abusive relationship tw, alcohol tw, angst tw, anxiety tw, anxiety/panic attack tw, blood tw, dark MorMor, depression tw, eating disorder tw, gay fluff, gay relationships, graphic depictions of violence tw, lots of cute Johnlock, lots of kisses, martin freeman - Freeform, mormor, roleplay format, rp form, sebastian moran - Freeform, self harm tw, severe depression tw, sexual assault mention tw, sherlock bbc - Freeform, smoking tw, suicide mention tw, too much angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-19 04:19:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3596109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/is_that_charlie_scene/pseuds/is_that_charlie_scene, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheScienceofDevotion/pseuds/TheScienceofDevotion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though some would consider having a Consulting Detective and a veteran doctor as parents amazing, it isn't all that for the Watson-Holmes siblings. For them- well, it's normal. There's nothing exquisite or special about it. However, it's something else entirely when one of your fathers is Sherlock Holmes. Of course, the science grades do benefit from that, but their exposure of the world behind-the-scenes of criminology isn't what it should be. They're in the grey, living under an umbrella of paranoia provided by their parents. Until now, Hamish thought he'd found himself the perfect Prince Charming; sweet, funny, and loving Steven. Well, it turns out that life isn't a parallel to Disney films. The fairy-tales aren't all what they seem, and there were pretty grim ones, too.</p><p>Please keep in mind this is in an Rp (roleplay) format.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

It was freezing.

Hamish Watson-Holmes wrapped his arms around his shins as he sat on the ledge of the first story roof, above the kitchen of their home. He held a cigarette delicately between two fingers, his hand shaking. He was exhausted, his wrist stinging fiercely from several fresh cuts, still seeping in the cold air. He hadn’t had such an awful night in months, not since he started dating Steven, but things had just seemed to get worse. Once Steven had been kind, sweet, always making Hamish smile and blush. Now all Hamish seemed to do was hide bruises, spend his nights crying and maiming his skin. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, most days.

He hid out on the roof ledge when his parents were home, reluctant to speak to them, or his sibling. They kept telling him that the phase would pass, but they were under the impression he was going through a ‘dark’ phase, due to his constant wearing of dark clothes. Dark clothes his wounds in sunny weather. Longer hair his bruises and cuts on his face. he hadn’t said a word to anyone, too afraid to be seen as weak and pathetic. He knew he was, but to see the disappointment on his family’s face would just be too much to bear.

Victoria was in her room, thinking about her brother. He had seemed so cut-off from everyone in the family, and she couldn’t help worrying about him. Though she knew he was more than capable of handling most things by himself, she could tell he was breaking; unlike their curly-haired father, she was more perceptive towards emotion, especially Hamish’s emotions. Growing up with him had taught her a lot about him.

She had been looking everywhere for him, when at last she found him there, sitting alone on the roof. Buttoning up her long coat, the brunette went up to her brother and sat down next to him. A few long minutes stretched out between them before she finally spoke. “Hey,” she whispered.

Hamish’s expression was one of complete vacancy, the opposite to the thoughts screaming within his mind, making his ears ring with their intensity. He exhaled smoke slowly as he watched Victoria out of the corner of his eyes, his lips pursed to expel the bruise-hued smoke. He flicked ash off the end of the cigarette as she spoke, debating whether or not he should reply. He constantly had to consider his answers, before he gave them. Was there too much emotion? Too little? He was still working on it. It wouldn’t do any good to ruin what he had going for himself, which was was fragile sanity and little to no mental stability. “Hey,” he said softly, his gaze falling back to the skyline.

Vic’s blue eyes followed the tendrils of smoke that escaped Hamish’s mouth to dissipate into the navy blue sky. It was such a beautiful night; devoid, seemingly, of everything man-made and false. Victoria knew Hamish had some sort of instability within him, but what it was, she didn’t know. Slowly, and because she knew he wouldn’t mind, she scooted closer to him and gripped the hand gently that wasn’t holding the cigarette. Victoria laced their fingers together in an act of sisterly compassion, and murmured, “nice night, huh?” She was just making conversation, something she usually wasn’t very good at doing.

Hamish gave her warm hand a gentle squeeze, his own hand freezing. She was one of the few people he didn’t mind if they touched him. He knew she would never do anything to hurt him, and he took comfort in that fact. He nodded absently. “Yeah...” he muttered. He preferred night to daytime. Everything was quiet and calm, nothing but the cool air and the darkening sky to keep him company. It was peaceful, something he needed and craved more and more, as of late. With the things he did to himself, and allowed others to do to him, it was nice to just be soothed my nature for awhile. But, by Christ, he was freezing... With little body fat, there was nothing to keep him warm but the hoodie and shirt he had on, paired with his jeans. He always forgot a jacket, since he was right by the window to his room.

Victoria almost forgot as she felt a shiver run through him. “Oh- here.” She passed him something soft and black. “I couldn’t find yours, so I took dad’s. He won’t mind, though.” The object that she had offered him was Sherlock’s long and warm trench coat. “I thought you might need it,” she added softly. Victoria lowered her eyes to the drop below, watching as a cat ran across Baker Street; a flitting shadow underneath the golden streetlight, and then it was gone, disappearing forever into the darkness.

“Oh, thanks,” Hamish muttered. He held the cigarette between his lips as he carefully slid on the jacket and closed it up, relaxing a little. He retook her hand as he took a long pull of the cigarette, exhaling the smoke through his nose. “What are you doing out here?” He asked softly, turning his head to watch her, brows furrowed. He didn’t speak to her much lately. Or to anyone in their house, at all. It was just easier to carry on in silence than to force himself to make needless conversation that just made him nervous.

Victoria sighed. “I guess,” she began, struggling to find the right words, “I guess I felt like I just needed to talk to you...” she paused, with the impression that she wasn’t quite done yet. “And… I… uh, well, we haven’t talked for an age, and I sort of miss you. We grew up together, and going a week without talking to you… it just feels… wrong.” She replied in a murmur.

Hamish sighed softly, looking away again. He knew the feeling. He stubbed out his cigarette, a little harsher than was necessary. “Been busy lately, you know? I’m sorry I’ve been… absent, I guess,” he muttered, picking at the hem of the leg of his jeans. He just couldn’t stop fidgeting. “How have you been?”

Victoria felt bad the instant he spoke. “No, don’t be sorry. If anything, I should be sorry. I mean, I’m gonna have to grow up at some point and stop being so clingy, right?” She answered, but the humour in her response was flat. “Me? Well, okay, I suppose. Dad and Pa had a row again last night, over something stupid again.” Frankly, she was worried about the stability of their fucking marriage. Like there wasn’t enough to worry about with her brother. She swallowed hard. “I keep trying to tell them to just shut up, but they won’t. It’s like I’m a ghost sometimes. They piss me off half the time.” She looked at her brother, decided that was enough from her. “What about you? And don’t say ‘good,’ because I know that’s a lie and I know you too well for that.”

Hamish grimaced at her tone and released her hand to wrap an arm around her shoulder, kissing her temple as he tugged her gently into a cuddle. “Be as clingy as you want, kiddo. We’re siblings. We’re meant to stick together,” he said softly. “Again?” He asked gently, expression somewhat sad. He’d heard them, but he hadn’t realised how frequent it had become. He’d have to talk to one of them about it. Soon. “Piss me off too. They argue too much,” he muttered, rubbing her shoulder. “I’m okay,” was his reply. Simple. To the point.

Victoria managed a tiny little smile as he pulled her in and they huddled together on the rooftop of 221B Baker Street. "Thanks, Mish," she whispered, before her expression turned more solemn. "Yeah..." She admitted, before looking up at him, brows raised. "You're okay." She repeated flatly. She didn't want to push him too far, but she also hated being kept in the dark, especially if it was something she could help Hamish with.

Hamish hummed softly, nodding. "I'm okay." He repeated, firmly. He wasn't good. He wasn't bad. He was just in between, just shy of fine. Well, for him, anyway. "How are things in school?" He asked, looking down at her. "Anyone giving you hassle lately? Any lads on the scene?" He teased her lightly with the last bit, trying to lift the conversation.

Victoria didn't believe him, but she let it rest. As for school... The corners of her mouth dropped slightly at the mention of it. Of course, there had been hassles; more that once Victoria had had to go to the school matron the be patched up; and all because the major homophobes of the school just so happened to be bullies. Only John knew what had been going on; Victoria had begged him not to tell either Sherlock or Hamish; and she was beginning to think that the bullying was a fraction of the reasons behind their constant arguing. She shrugged. "Fine. It's fine." At his last comment, she snorted. "As if."

Hamish cocked his head as he expression fell. "Vicky?" He asked softly. "What's wrong?" She may not push asking him questions, but he would push with her. Being her brother, and the older of the two, he was extremely protective of her and he would do anything to look after her if he needed to. They went to the same school, but Hamish was never near her end, always stuck with Steven and his little 'crew'. "Is something going on that I should know about?"

She shook her head firmly. "Unless of you want to hear me go on and on about how boring Mr Syers is in physics, be my guest. But there's nothing going on." She replied. "How's... Steven, by the way?" She hoped at least her brother's boyfriend could brighten the dim light in Hamish's eyes. If he wasn't going to tell her anything, she wouldn't either.

Hamish's expression flickered for a moment, a brief hint of fear passing through his eyes. He shrugged, composing himself easily. "Fine, yeah. Going over to his tomorrow, probably going to be there for the night." He replied smoothly. He was dreading it. Steven was meant to be holding a house party and Hamish would only know four or five people there, out of the hundred meant to be going. He wasn't prepared for that kind of crowd. Having lost what few friends he had, he was completely alone in social situations. And Steven's friends were not the type he really wanted to be associated with if he had the choice. Only one or two were actually worth talking to.

Vic nodded. "M'kay. In case... Y'know- in case, well, dad or father asks about your whereabouts, should I tell them that, then?" She mumbled to her brother. In that social aspect, both Watson-Holmes siblings had inherited their 98.6% Introversy on the Myers-Briggs personality test from their brunette father, Sherlock Holmes. Or so it appeared. Victoria had quit competitive swimming at the age of six when she was told off for complaining that there were too many people at a swim meet and that the world needed a 'new plague' to rid itself of so many people. Though, that had been a rather large extremity.

"Yeah, may as well." Hamish sighed. "Not like they're really care either way, will they?" He rest his cheek atop her head, brows furrowed. Hamish really wasn't looking forward to the following day, but he couldn't keep saying no to these things.  He didn't want Steven to get annoyed with him over it, which could easily happen. "What are you doing for the weekend?" He asked, suddenly. It was Friday the following day, and Hamish planned to be home about midday on Saturday the latest. He still had yet to decide if he would be drinking or not, or else he'd spend the night in the garden smoking like a chimney.

Victoria let out a soft sigh as she lay her head on Hamish's shoulder. "Christ, Hamish," she muttered, "of course they care. They love you and they care about you. You're their son, goddammit, of course they'll care." She told him, frowning at the empty street below. "Don't say that," she whispered. A few minutes of silence stretched between them before Hamish asked her something. "Oh. I don't know, I'll probably spend the weekend doing homework and writing fanfic." That was indeed what Vic did in her free time: she wrote gay Star Trek fanfiction, and only Hamish and her online fans knew about it. "When will you be back?" She asked him.

Hamish didn't respond to her first comments. He didn't need to. He'd never been shown much affection. First born treated differently. Everything had been nervous and awkward attempts at trying to all work together. They got it right with Victoria. "Mm, what a day to be alive when fanfiction is a thing. Yours is brilliant."he smiled a little. He was proud of her. She was a fantastic writer. "Should be home by noon, I'd say. Maybe earlier, depending."

Victoria felt partly saddened that no response came about the affection John and Sherlock showed towards them, and as of on impulse, her fingers tightened around his hand gently, as if to tell him she'd always be there for him. Victoria let out a small huff. "Indeed, it is quite an era," she answered. "Thanks, Mish." She nodded, causing her braided hair to fall sideways from her shoulder. She ignored it, and let out a sigh. "Oh... Okay, then." She'd been hoping he'd be back earlier, but really, she knew he deserved to be with a good boyfriend. She gave him a little smile.

Hamish gave her hand a small squeeze in return. He felt terribly guilty. He didn't like hiding things from Victoria like this. It made everything difficult. "We'll do something when I come home yeah?" He offered, looking down at her. He missed their tv show marathons and their late night feasts when their parents were out late. He had little interest in shows lately and food was such a chore that it made him sick most of the time.

"Mhmm," Victoria agreed. She also missed their TV show and film marathons when their fathers were away. Once, when Sherlock and John had gone to Dublin for a case, Victoria and Hamish had sat through eighteen hours of a middle-earth movie-marathon, watching every single film all the way from The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey to The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. It had been a glorious session of silent rebellion: their parents, especially Sherlock, hated it when they watched too much television. But right now, Victoria couldn't care less as to whether their parents disagreed with what the siblings were doing. Victoria just hoped she could get Hamish back to how he was before. "We should do a Harry Potter marathon," she said. They hadn't ever done that before. "Fifteen hours of material right there," she said with a grin.

Hamish cooed thoughtfully. "I could be down for that. How about Saturday then? I'll bring home snacks. We can do it in one of our rooms, if they're home." He nodded his head towards the house. He had a soft spot for Harry Potter, really. And he missed his sister. Missed being able to talk to her freely instead of watching everything he said. He missed how they used to joke about and think up new plots for her fanfictions and different pairings.

Vic also missed all that. They both had a little warm place in their hearts reserved for Harry Potter; they had even once worked together on what had turned out to be a novel-length post-war fanfiction set right after the end of the Deathly Hallows. But Victoria just hoped that they might be able to share everything again, despite the fact that he was older, despite that he had a boyfriend. Victoria nodded. "That sounds superb. And if either dad or father come in whilst we're watching, I'll tell them to bugger off. They can't say anything." It was true; Victoria was too pissed off at their parents and their pointless fighting to even want to talk to them properly.

Hamish pressed a kiss to her temple. "Agreed. Sucks for them, they can't join in." he joked lightly. "Come on, let's get inside. I'm wrecked and I have a ridiculous amount of homework lately." He sighed. Despite everything going on he still made a point to get all of his work done on the night it was given. He kept his grades up and participated in class. He made sure nobody would question him, by acting exactly the same at school. Just.. Minus his old friends, and minus actually eating at lunch. Otherwise, little changed.

 **  
** Victoria had to smile a little. "Okay," she said, standing up, and pulling Hamish up with her, "Let's go." She led the way to the stairs that led into the attic, and from there, they descended into the living room of 221B.

They were met by a screaming frenzy.

 


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things aren't going all that well for John and Sherlock's relationship. Nevertheless, some fluff is still present.

They were at it again. Hamish followed Victoria closely, allowing her to guide him. He grimaced as he saw the agitation on both parents faces. Wonderful.

Sherlock Holmes was plucking at his violin, looking unhappily at John, his fingers a bit too agitated and too furious as they twanged the strings. "What do you mean, you can't come on the case tomorrow? Scratch your patients, this is more interesting, and besides, I need your help," he said. He didn't bother acknowledging his children's presence as they walked in.  
John sighed in exasperation. "Sherlock, we've been over this." He was unaware his children were there at all, his back to them. "I can't keep leaving work to help you. We have bills to pay. And my patients are just as important as your clients, understand? I'm not dropping everything for a case." he was clearly annoyed, clenching and unclenching his hand steadily.  
Victoria scowled at their parents, though deep inside she was really worried. There were the times when Sherlock stretched it too far, and pushed the limits, and there were other times where John would simply explode. Now, it looked like it was a mix of both.  
"But I need your help, John, for god's sakes, don't you even care about what we did together? I know it's dangerous for the kids, but i need your help, goddammit!" Spittle frothed up on the detective's lower lip. "We've paid half of the bills anyways. People can cover you at the doctor's, but nobody can cover up for you at my side on a case, John, don't you understand?!" He was clearly on the brink of yelling.   
Victoria couldn't take it anymore. " _Enough_!" She shouted. Sherlock's head whipped up from John, his eyes narrowed n the pair of them. Her grip tightened on Hamish's hand, and she found her lips were quivering with rage. “Shut _up_! _God,_ just for once, do you think that might actually work? I mean, does it even  _compute_ for either of you that we're having to put up with all this bullshit? Stop it, the _both_ of you!" Victoria snapped at their parents. If they started shouting at her, she wouldn't mind. She had lost the ability to care about their rebuking ages ago, and tonight was no different.

John turned sharply to look at their children, the fight leaving him as he saw just how tired and annoyed they both were. "Victor-" was the beginning of his reprimand, but Hamish cut him off.   
"She's right. You're acting like children. Grow up for once and actually talk like adults. Stop arguing like what you're both talking about is the most damn important thing in your lives." he scolded, rubbing the back of Victoria's hand comfortingly with his thumb.   
John looked offended. "Hamish Watson-Holmes don't you start talking to-"   
"You like that, blah blah. So I can't but you two can? Sounds kinda fucked."   
Victoria glared at John, before squeezing Hamish's hand, grateful for his support. "Yeah," she sided. "Stop arguing for once and grow up." Her tone was icy, her blue eyes hard.   
Sherlock swallowed hard and looked at John, his back now ramrod straight, expression serious and unwavering. "To your rooms." He said, addressing the siblings. They didn't move. "Now," he demanded. "That is an order."   
Victoria had the vowels of a curse forming on her lips, shaping them, but instead she just spun around on her heel and stormed out of the living room.   
"Hypocrites." Hamish muttered under his breath as he turned to follow Victoria, hands shoved in his pockets now she was gone. He was still wearing Sherlock's coat, but he slipped it off and let it fall to the floor. Expensive or not, it was his childish attempt at payback. He followed Victoria upstairs, scowl set firmly in place. Fucking parents. Too blind to see anything but their own issues.   
There came the sound of a slamming door from upstairs as Victoria threw herself on her bed, and opened her laptop. She needed to write, and then sleep her anger off.   
Hamish left Victoria by herself for now and went into his own room, locking the door as he did. He pulled his bag onto his bed and made a start on his homework, stretching his arms out stiffly. Christ, he needed to stop pushing himself. He was exhausted and now he was pissed.

Sherlock sighed as he picked up his coat from the floor and hung it up, only to sit back down and face John. "I'm sorry, love." He muttered, eyebrows knitted together, fingertips pressed to his temples as he tried to calm down.   
John sighed softly, lowering himself into his seat. "Me too." he muttered, rubbing his stubbled jaw slowly, brows furrowed."We have to sort this out.. "   
"We do," Sherlock agreed, his tone and posture miserable as he stood up and checked the cupboards for what they had available for dinner. "Does soup sound okay?" He asked, before checking his watch. It was already half past ten and they hadn't eaten dinner, because the two men had been too caught up in their argument. "Oh god," the detective muttered, a slight tinge of shame linking his tone. "Look at how the time flies."   
John checked the time, groaning. "Maybe just sandwiches. If the kids want something, they can make it." he ran a hand through his hair. "Not like Hamish even eats what we make him." He rose to his feet, padding over to Sherlock, wary. They needed to do a shop. And sort out their marriage. And then just sort out their lives.

"Mhmm," Sherlock replied thoughtfully. He sighed, mussed up his own curly mop of dark hair and looked down at the counter in front of him. They really did need to sort out everything. He chewed on his lower lip, absent mindedly twisting his wedding ring on his finger. "Yeah... Speaking of which, I'm worried about Hamish."   
John filled the kettle with water and flicked it on. "Why's that?" he asked, frown deepening as he began to prepare the cups. He glanced at Sherlock. He was concerned too, but with everything happening with Victoria, it was difficult to find the time to sit down and talk to Hamish, without it being a bad time for any of them. Even now was a bad time.   
Sherlock closed his eyes, wondering how he was going to put this. Right. Straightforwards, then. "He hardly eats anything, I mean look at him, he's so thin now. You've only got to look at his fingernails to know he smokes sometimes. On occasion. And I think if I told you that there are fine speckles of blood on his white school shirts where the fabric covers the forearm, you'd know what I was talking about." There. He'd said it. Three simple deductions about his own son. And Sherlock was tremendously worried.   
John's eyes went wide. "Fuck." He breathed. "We.. We should talk to him about it.. Soon." he worried at his lip. "Do you know what's brought it on?" he asked hesitantly, getting the milk from the fridge.   
"I know we should.” Sherlock muttered, "I know. We should talk to him over the weekend." He answered, opening his blue eyes once more. "But we're going to need to cooperate and work together to do this, because this is not going to be easy." Sherlock paused, then shrugged. "I haven't a clue."   
John sighed. "We'll figure out our own shit before he start handling his. Or instead of answering he'll throw our problems back at us no problem." he dragged a hand through his hair, leaning against the counter top, hand gripping the edges.   
"That is most unfortunately true," he replied.

Sherlock hesitated before he wrapped his arms around John's waist, and lightly kissed the top of his husband’s head. "And no matter what happens, John, just... remember that I'm here though, for you, always."   
John wrapped his arms around the man, pecking his cheek softly. They hadn't exactly been affectionate towards each other lately and he had missed it. "Thank you, love." he said softly. "And I'm always here for you too. Always." He rubbed Sherlock's sides gently, looking up at him sadly.   
"Thank you," he replied. "Do you want to go to bed soon? Sleep it all off?" Sherlock suggested, upon seeing John's sad expression.   
"Yeah, sure.. In a while though. I have some files to look over and that first." He sighed, patting his side as he drew away to make the tea.   
"Aright." Sherlock then moved over with him, and gently pried the kettle and the mugs away from him. "You can go get started on the files, I'll do this, okay?" He told John, blue eyes looking down at the shorter man.   
John hesitated before he nodded. He pecked Sherlock's cheek. "Thank you." he said softly, reluctant. "I really shouldn't take all that long." he promised.   
Sherlock simply gave him a small smile and a nod. "Do you want peppermint or earl grey?" He asked him.   
"Peppermint, please." John replied with a tired smile as he padded back out into the living room, picking up his briefcase off the table as he went.   
Sherlock nodded and got out two peppermint teabags which he dumped into their mugs before filling them with hot water.   
John sat at the desk and set to work, zoning out from his surroundings completely as he did so, muttering to himself.

Upstairs, Victoria shut the lid of her laptop down, her eyes burning. Blinking, she stood up, changed. Into pyjamas, and gave a light knock on her brother's door. "Mish?" She whispered. "It's me."   
Hamish was half asleep, writing out maths equations carefully, lids heavy. With a small huff he. Slid off the bed and made his way to the door. He unlocked it and opened it. "Mm?"   
Victoria sighed, and pushed open the door slightly. "Hey," she murmured. "I'm going to bed now, I just thought I might tell you... And I'll try to get the movies tonight," she added on, before looking at his work. "I suggest you get some sleep too. A _B_ in science won't make dad kill you." By dad, she obviously meant Sherlock.   
"Alright, sleep tight." Hamish opened his arms for a hug. "Wicked, I'll bring a stash back when I'm on my way home." he snorted softly. "I only have a few more things to do. Shouldn't be longer than an hour." he promised.   
Victoria walked over to Hamish and hugged him tightly. At least she had her brother. Better that than two arguing parents only.   
Hamish winced at her tight grip, but hugged her back just as tightly, kissing her forehead.   
Victoria sighed and pulled away after kissing his cheek. "Good night," she muttered.   
Hamish smiled weakly. "Night. Don't let the dead bite." he teased lightly, flicking on his lamp.   
Victoria smiled a little and scrunched up her nose at him before opening the door. "Night, Hamish."   
Hamish watched her go and closed the door again. He stretched out tiredly and checked his phone, pulling a face as he replied to Steven's texts before going back to his homework, exhausted.

Sherlock picked up both mugs and placed John's in front of him. "There you go."   
John muttered a _thank you_ , typing slowly and making small pen notes in the file he was working on, body tense.   
Sherlock hummed as a form of welcome before he sat down on the couch with a book and his mug of tea. He thought he should go check on the kids, so he abandons his book and trudged upstairs. First of all he knocked lightly on Victoria's door; no response came. The detective opened up the door, and sure enough, she was asleep. Sherlock sighed softly before closing the door and knocking lightly on Hamish's door. Older sibling or not, it was already past eleven.  
"Yeah?" Hamish called, brows furrowed as he was bent over his English essay, chewing his lip in thought. He still had a fair bit to do, but it wouldn't be the first time he would stay up late doing homework.   
"It's me, Hamish," came the soft reply from the other side of the closed door. "May I come in, please?" Sherlock asked, taking another sip from his tea mug. He waited for a reply, and hoped sincerely that Hamish didn't have too much homework to do. He needed to get some sleep.   
"Yeah, I guess." Hamish replied, putting his pen down and stretched his arms out stiffly, sighing. He looked up as Sherlock came in, tapping his pen off the page. "What's up?”   
Sherlock let out a sigh as he saw Hamish's English homework. "How much more work do you have to do for tomorrow? I want to you get some sleep," Sherlock replied, his expression serious.  
Hamish shrugged. "Most of it is due next week." he admitted. "But I'd rather get it all done now and have less stress next week." he worried at his lip. "I'll be another hour or so, max.”   
Sherlock sighed and ruffled up his son's hair. Alright," he muttered. "I'll come back up here in forty five minutes, and then you're going to bed, alright?" He told Hamish. "If there's anything you don't understand, that's what I'm here for, okay?”   
Hamish nodded. "Got it. See you in forty five." He replied. "Thanks, dad." he wasn't angry with either of his parents anymore. He wasn't very good at staying angry with people. He found it difficult to handle his emotions.   
Sherlock smiled a bit as he walked outside, closing the door behind himself. At least Hamish wasn't still angry at him, so that made this much easier. Slowly he trudged back downstairs keeping an eye on the time.

Hamish went straight back to work, music playing quietly in the music, enough to keep him distracted so he didn't fall to his thoughts, instead of his homework. He finished the expected work quicker than he had anticipated, within half an hour. He finished the last of his essay, did his French, and then packed away his work. He stifled a small yawn and rubbed his eyes. He slid off his bed and changed into his pyjamas- an old ratty band shirt and loose pyjama bottoms. He crawled into bed and curled up, eyes open as he stared out the window.   
Sherlock opened the door quietly fifteen minutes later, to see everything packed away and a skinny figure curled up in bed. Slowly, he crossed the bedroom to where Hamish lay. Sherlock bent down and with a swift movement, he pressed a kiss to Hamish's forehead before retreating from the room. He still didn't have a clue as to what he would say to Hamish during the weekend with John.   
Hamish was feigning sleep until Sherlock left. Then he opened his eyes once more and slid his earphones in. Sleep? Not a chance. His nightmares would never allow that.   
Victoria woke up with a sigh, and frowned up at her ceiling. Ideas, ideas, ideas. They made her sit up in the middle of the night. She grabbed her laptop, opened it up, and started to write some more. She was still pissed off with her parents; unlike Hamish, she found it easy to hold a grudge.   
Hamish had his music up loud, blaring in his ears as he read various fanfictions on his phone, eyes a little unfocused. Victoria put her own earphones in, and put on the absolutely phenomenal soundtrack of Star Trek: Into darkness. Right then. Sci-fi.   
Hamish was blasting heavy metal, reading Teen Wolf AUs to pass the time until he simply passed out from exhaustion. The only way he would ever sleep.   
Vic didn't care if she was tired the next day; it was an assignment-free day, and Friday besides, so who cares? She didn’t.

Sherlock went to the room he shared with John, took a quick shower and changed into his pyjamas. "Get some rest, John," he said as he walked back into the living room, buttoning up his checkered top.   
John blinked. "What time is it?" he asked, frowning in confusion, eyes stinging. Sherlock checked his watch.   
"It's already midnight."  
John frowned. "Already? Christ. Alright." He nodded, rising to his feet. He tidied away his things carefully and shut down his laptop. "Time flies when work's involved." he muttered absently.  
Sherlock nodded. "Come on, let's go to bed," he told John, walking towards their room. By now, the detective was truly exhausted, and he quickly got underneath the sheets and waited for John.   
John changed into comfy clothes before sliding into bed, turning off the light as he did, stifling a wide yawn. Sherlock snuggled up to John and wrapped his arms around his husband from the back, nuzzling him with soft affection as he closed his eyes. Jonh snuggled back into Sherlock with a content sigh, arms resting atop Sherlock's. "Goodnight, love." he whispered.   
"'Night, John," came the murmured reply.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock are too tired to be bothered to do much. Hamish meets Steven in front of the school gates.

When Hamish woke to his alarm in the morning, his head was hopping and his stomach was aching something awful. Great. He slid out of bed, the first to get up at the unGodly hour of half six, and went for his shower. He showered quickly and went back to his room, as quiet as ever. He dressed and packed in a change of clothes in his school back. God, he was dreading tonight.

 

Sherlock carefully disentangled himself from John and the bedsheets, making sure not to wake him, and walked upstairs. "Hamish?" He called softly. "Are you up yet?"

Hamish appeared on the landing. "Course." he rolled his eyes. He was always the first up and last to go to sleep, as far as he knew. Well, he usually was. He padded downstairs, bag in hand. "Want me to put coffee on for you?" he asked, already fully intending on making his own.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, please," he replied. "So," he said, as he looked outside of the window onto Baker Street, "tell me a bit more about this party you're going to tonight." Sherlock's blue eyes wandered around the living room.

Hamish shrugged, but he was instantly on edge as he set the kettle to boil and prepared a cup and a travel mug. "Pretty standard party. Nothing wild or exciting. " Yeah, right. Underage drinking, probable drug consumption and ridiculous amounts of intoxicated teenagers. Typical party, really.

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up at that. "Really," he said, disbelief lining his tone. "Listen, I know you'll be with Stefan, or whatever the name of your boyfriend is, but if anything goes wrong, no matter what the time is, I want you to text me or to phone me so I can go pick you up, alright? And I don't want you to think that just because I'm your father and you tell me that you did something bad, I'll yell at you and abuse you, understand? Because I won't. I'll probably talk you through it and then leave it at that."

Hamish sighed. "Steven." He corrected under his breath. He had no intention of calling Sherlock if something happened. He hadn't any other time. Why start now? "Thanks dad. I'm sure I'll be fine, but I'll remember that." he assured, making the coffee and passing Sherlock his.

Sherlock thanked him, before checking the time. "Well , time for school, young man," he said. "Do you want me to drive you there?" He had to admit he was worried for his son. Very worried.

Hamish shook his head. "I'm going to walk. Don't mind the fresh air." And the time to have a smoke and drink his coffee. "I'll be home around noon tomorrow, is that okay?" he asked. He'd be gone anyway but it was polite to ask.

Sherlock nodded. "Alright, then." He hesitated for a moment, before nodding. "It's fine. And have fun at the party, alright?" Sherlock replied seriously as he took a sip from his coffee.

"Always do." Hamish shrugged, picking up his bag. He shouldered it and let himself out of the flat, sipping at his coffee as he left the building and began his walk to school, lighting a cigarette as he walked, teeth chattering in the cold air.

 

Sherlock watched his son go with a heavy heart, dreading how the teen might return. Slowly he trudged back to the room, quietly shutting the door behind him and climbing into bed again with John.

"Vicky up?" John mumbled as he curled back into his husband, still half asleep.

"Not yet, I don't think," Sherlock muttered sleepily. He should have woken her up earlier. Well, she still had a good fifty minutes until her classes started.

"Mish gone already?" John stifled a yawn, turning to press his face against Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock pecked soft kisses onto the top of John’s head in adoration, warm and comfortable with John.

"Yes," the detective replied, snaking his arms around the doctor.

"What does he even do for an hour?" John muttered, words slurred. "who goes to school this early?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "And I don't like not knowing."

John sighed. "Nor do I.”

Sherlock sighed and muttered, "we really have to talk to him at some point."

"I know." John answered, waking up properly. "Sunday. We'll talk to him on Sunday.”

"Mhmm," Sherlock replied, his eyes fluttering shut. The detective hadn't slept in seventy-two hours due to a frustrating case involving three homicides, a serial killer, hypnotic skills, and chewing-gum.

John was happy to just doze off again. Work was spreading him thin.

Sherlock watched his husband’s eyes close, waited for his breathing to calm down, and for him to relax against Sherlock as his arms tightened around John. It wasn’t log before he, too, succumbed to exhaustion. Sherlock's sleep was deeper than before, but at six thirty his phone alarm promptly went off. He ignored it, lacking the complete strength to wake up.

John whined loudly at the noise. "Too damn early." he grumbled.

"Vic… School…" Sherlock murmured in his sleep as the annoying ringing sound finally sank into him.

Victoria was just as tired as both her parents: she had stayed up until 4:30 am writing, and had promptly passed out out of utter exhaustion, her laptop on the bed, next to her.

John nodded tiredly and rolled away from Sherlock and padded out of their room, rubbing his eyes. He knocked on Victoria's door. "Vic, time to get up for school.”

However, Victoria was still profoundly asleep and heard nothing. She was on her front, with her cheek resting against the pillow, black hair scattered over her face where her plait had become undone and the sheets were in a tangle around her.

John sighed and opened her door, but as he walked in, he hesitated. Maybe she could do with a day off... His daughter looked exhausted and school had just been constant stress for her lately. With a sigh, he kissed her forehead, and let her be. One day wouldn't kill her.

Victoria only reacted to his touch and rolled over, her arms curling around her laptop, as if she were subconsciously trying to protect it. Otherwise, she didn't move.

John smiled sadly and backed out of her room, closing the door behind him. He padded back to his bedroom and crawled back into bed with a small huff.

Sherlock felt the mattress move as John rejoined him. "And Vic?" He murmured sleepily.

"Giving her the day off." John yawned. "She's been working too hard lately."

"Vic? Working too hard?" Sherlock said back, his eyes still closed. "Working on what? She told me she had no homework left.”

John hummed softly. "She needs a rest, 'Lock."

Sherlock gave a little mutter, the sound incomprehensible. Then he said, “yeah. Alright." And fell asleep again just like that.

John curled up to fall back asleep, face buried in his pillow.

 

Hamish wasn't long walking to school. Within twenty minutes he was there, disposing of his third cigarette of the morning and popping a piece of gum into his mouth. His mouth tasted like coffee and ash. The older Watson-Holmes sibling didn't do much in the mornings. He walked about. Met Steven. Simple as. Steven was older, thus in different classes, except for Chemistry and History. The school curriculum was somewhat of a mess. Despite that, now was one of the few times the boys saw each other at school.

Steven was leaning casually against a wall at the back of the school, waiting for Hamish as he let his finished cigarette fall to the floor and stomped on it.

Hamish wandered over, hands in his pockets against the chill in the air. "Hey." he smiled softly, coming up beside him.

Steven looked up. "Hey, sweetheart."

Hamish pecked his cheek. "How are you?"he asked, rocking on his feet.

"Yeah, good," he replied, returning the peck with a soft kiss on Hamish's jawbone. "And you?"

Hamish's smile was shy and timid. "I'm alright, yeah." he nodded, relaxing. Of course things would be fine. He was just paranoid.

Steven watched him with a soft hazel gaze. "You're coming tonight, right?"

Hamish nodded. "Of course. I said I was." he assured, leaning against the wall, on his shoulder.

"Good," Steven answered with a little smile. "It's going to be great, trust me." "I know it will." Hamish smiled.

"So, who's going?"

"Well , put simply, the majority of both our years are going," Steven said with a light shrug.

"Oh wow." Hamish blinked. "Fair enough." he chewed on his lip. It was going to be such a long night.

"You'll be fine; just stick with me, okay?" Steven reassured Hamish.

Hamish nodded. "I will, yeah. You know I will." He smiled sheepishly.

"Good. I love you, Hamish." He grinned.

"I love you too." Hamish blushed, looking down at his feet shyly, smiling.

Steven smiled back at Hamish, before leaning over and kissing him very softly. Hamish returned the kiss sweetly, his smile unfading. He adored moments like this. When everything was peaceful and just them. Steven smiled and let his arms encircle Hamish's waist as he kissed him back gently. Hamish carefully cupped Steven's cheek, free hand resting on his chest. Steven closed his eyes, still smiling against Hamish's lips, before he finally pulled away, breathing slightly harder than he had been earlier on. Looking down at Hamish's hand, he murmured, one palm against Hamish's nape as he rested their foreheads together, "do you feel it? My heart?"

Hamish nodded, rubbing his thumb against the fabric of his shirt slowly. "Yeah." he whispered. "It's beating so fast. "

Steven smiled. "It is. Thanks to you," he said softly, before raising his other hand and running his index lovingly along Hamish's jaw.

Hamish smiled softly, his cheeks a faint pink, his smile almost giddy. "Me?" he asked, leaning into his touch, looking up at him curiously, feeling his heartbeat, steady and strong. He was faintly in awe, feeling the comforting thump of his heart under his hand.

"Yes, you," He smiled gently before rolling his eyes and groaning as the school bell rang. "Oh, brilliant," he said sarcastically.

Hamish sighed, pulling a face. He dropped his hand and stepped away.

"Fantastic." he muttered.

Steven looked down and angrily ground his old cigarette butt further into the ground. "Well then," he said stonily, "let's go."

Hamish swallowed tightly and nodded, caught off by the mood change. "Yeah." he began to walk slowly.

Steven walked beside him until they reached the school courtyard, and they had to walk off to their classes.

"I'll catch you later," he promised, kissing Hamish lightly before departing.

Hamish blushed at the kiss and smiled a little. "See ya." he replied before wandering off to his own classes, not really keen on going but he had no choice. He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets, ignoring people around him, ignoring the whispers in his head.

 

Another day at school. He could do this, sure.

No problem.


	5. Chapter 5

You _ know what's even stranger? _

_ I don't know wether this is a dream or not. _

 

Panting, Victoria suddenly bolted up in bed, her head spinning as her digi-clock came into focus. Shit. Breathing heavily, Tori wiped the sweat from her brow with her eiderdown, and checked her arm clock again. Was it really 7:00PM? Her clock was off, but it wasn't _that_ off- What the-? "Dad?" She called, her voice slurred from sleep.

"Yeah?" John called back from the kitchen, making a late dinner for the three of them. "What's wrong?"

Victoria abandoned her laptop on the pillow as she unsuccessfully tried to disentangle herself from the bedsheets, falling to the floor in an ungraceful manner before kicking herself free, head spinning. With that, she walked unsteadily downstairs to see her parents there. Rubbing her eyes wearily, she said, "what's the time?"

John looked over his shoulder at the clock. "Nearly half seven." He replied. "Everything okay?" he frowned, concerned.

 

 

Steven was waiting for Hamish in the school carpark on his motorcycle, to take Hamish to the party with him.

 

After having made his way over to Steven, Hamish stooped a little to peck his lips briefly in greeting. "Hey."

"Hey," he answered. "Get on the back, we're join to my place. You ready for the party?" He asked.

Hamish nodded as he slid on behind him. "As I'll ever be." he joked lightly. 

Steven chuckled and kicked up the stand, before sliding the visor down on his helmet after handing Hamish a helmet and warming up the engine.

Hamish tugged his helmet on and wrapped his arms around Steven's waist as he settled. 

 

They arrived at Steven's house a mere ten minutes later. When they arrived, Hamish got off on slightly shaky legs and took off the helmet. Steven followed suit before sliding an arm around Hamish's waist to steady him. "You alright?"

Grateful for the support, Hamish nodded, leaning into him. "Yeah I'm fine. Just not used to it."

Steven smiled. "You'll get used to it, believe me," he smiled.

 

Hamish smiled shyly. "I hope so." he laughed. 

Steven grinned at him and unlocked the door to his house. "My parents are away on a vacation, so this is going to be great," he said.

 

Hamish smiled widely. "I bet. You always throw good parties too."

Steven grinned at him. "Well, thank you."

"What?!" Victoria exclaimed. "But that means I skipped school, oh my god..."

John sighed. "It's fine. I'll write you a note. Clearly you needed your sleep if you only just woke up now."

"Yeah, I did..." She blinked, rubbing her temples. "God, I feel terrible."

"Victoria, when did you go to bed?" Sherlock said, eyes narrowed towards her.

John turned the heat off the soup to turn and look at Victoria expectantly, brows raised. 

"Eleven pm." She replied with a shrug.

"Liar." Sherlock shot back.

"All right, it was more like one o'clock." She answered.

Sherlock's brows shot up.

"Five. Five a.m." She muttered, glaring at her dark haired father, who leaned back into his chair, a smug smirk on his face.

Hamish grinned back. "You're very welcome."

 

"Right then," Steven said, closing the door behind them, "come on upstairs."

Hamish nodded and followed him upstairs. He'd only been to Steven's place a couple of times, and that was usually when his parents were home.

 

Steven opened up the door to his room. "You've got a change of clothes, right?" He asked.

 

 

Hamish nodded. "Yeah, of course." he replied with a shrug. 

John sighed heavily. "No wonder you're bloody exhausted. And what about the night before? What's your average time?"

"Four a.m," she muttered. There was no point in lying, Sherlock seemed to know anyways. 

"Doing what, exactly?" Sherlock asked. Victoria didn't reply.

John rose a brow. "Victoria. Tell us."

 

Steven smiled. "Great." He flung open his wardrobe and chucked his stuff on his bed before sitting down and patting the spot beside him.

 

Hamish walked over and sat down beside him with a small hum, smiling a little. He had fully convinced himself that things would be perfectly fine. 

 

 

And Steven leaned over to him with a little smile. "I love you."

"Writing," she mumbled, nearly inaudibly. "Sorry."

John rubbed his face tiredly. "You have to stop. You'll run yourself into the ground at this rate."

"I know, I know, it's just..." She scuffed the floor angrily. "I can't help it."

"Yes, you can. By going to sleep when you are actually tired." John frowned. 

She rolled her eyes. "But I don't. I just... sort of pass out and sleep like that." She shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

John made a small noise in the back of his throat. "Vic, if you don't start sleeping at normal times, we'll have to start taking your laptop."

Victoria glared at him and waggled her fingers in the air dramatically, blue eyes widening in sarcastic anger. "Oooh, should I be scared? Is that a threat, father?" She only called either of them father when she was pissed off.

"Victoria!" Sherlock cut in.

Hamish smiled softly, eyes shining. "I love you too." he said softly, blushing. 

 

Steven caught his eyes with his gaze before leaning over some more and kissing him softly.

 

Hamish leaned into the kiss, meeting him halfway. The kiss was soft and sweet, making his chest tighten. 

 

Steven's hand moved on top of Hamish's on the bed as he leaned farther into it. He loved times like this between the two of them.

 

 

Hamish gently laced their fingers, a faint smile crossing his lips at the sweetness of it all. It hadn't been this peaceful in a while and he missed it. 

 

Steven moved his other hand to Hamish's jaw, cupping his cheek lightly as they kissed softly, closing his hazel eyes.

 

Hamish melted into his touch, his free hand coming up to rest on Steven's chest, over his heart once more. 

John's expression was completely neutral. "Keep up the sarcasm and see what it gets you."

Victoria's lips quivered, before she opened her mouth to retort, before she thought the better of it, turned on her heel, and stalked out of the room, before turning around and yelling from the top of the stairs, "next time, wake me up!" A moment later there came the sound of a door slamming. Sherlock sighed deeply and ran a hand through his curls.

John sighed softly. He turned back to the soup, jaw clenched tightly as he stirred it, shoulders tense. 

Sherlock stood up and gently took the spoon from him. "Take a little minute to calm down, John. Let me do that."

John shook his head. "It's alright, I can manage." he sighed. 

Sherlock stepped back slightly. "Alright," he muttered. "I'll lay out the table, alright?"

John nodded. "Please." he said softly. "It'll be done in a few minutes. "

"Alright," Sherlock said, getting out the plates and silverware.

"It's going to be a long weekend." he sighed.

"It is indeed," he muttered, before looking up from what he was doing. "Listen, John," Sherlock started, "don't get too tied up about Victoria. If it continues, I'll take the laptop away, don't worry."

John sighed. "There's.not much of a point. She has her phone. And probably uses Hamish's laptop sometimes."

"Well then I'll take her phone away for the night and tell Hamish not to lend her his laptop." He shrugged.

John sighed, nodding. "Yeah.. I suppose we'll see."

Sherlock leaned over and kissed his cheek. "We'll sort it all out, okay? Don't stress."

John nodded weakly. "I'm sure we will. It'll be fine."

"We will be, John. It's going to be alright," he said reassuringly. He didn't know wether he was lying or not.

 

***

 

Steven smiled against his lips, moving his hand to wrap around Hamish's waist. 

Hamish shifted to move closer, feeling safe and actually loved for the first time in too long. 

Steven moved Hamish so his boyfriend was sitting on his lap. Steven's arms around Hamish tightened a little.

Hamish shifted to straddle his thighs, more to be at a comfortable angle than anything else. He ran his hand up from his chest to cup the back of Steven's neck, the other gently threading through his hair. 

Steven pulled him even closer, groaning a little, and gently let his hand stroke Hamish's cheek with soft fingers as they kissed.

Hamish echoed the sound softly, daring to nip lightly at Steven's bottom lip, his heart racing.

Steven returned the nip with a slight nibble on Hamish's lip, moving both arms to wrap around Hamish's torso to close what little space there still remained between the two of them.

Hamish made a soft mewling sound, visibly relaxing into his embrace. 

Steven smiled against his boyfriend's lips, holding him close.

 

Hamish drew away, cheeks pink, smiling softly. 

Steven smiled at him. "You're so cute," he mused gently.

 

Hamish blushed deeper. "Hardly." he chuckled. 

"Adorable," he whispered, before grinning and nuzzling Hamish's neck affectionately.

Hamish smiled shyly, kissing his cheek. "if you say so, love."

He chuckled. "I love you, Hamish Watson-Holmes."

"I love you too, Steven McDonald." Hamish grinned, kissing his nose.

Steven grinned back, before running his tigers through Hamish's hair once, and checking the time. "Fifteen more minutes until the gates open," he said. "We'd better get changed."

Hamish hummed softly, nodding. "Mm, okay. Mind if I change in the bathroom?" hr asked. He needed to fix his hair and such. 

"Not at all," Steven answered with a grin.

Hamish slid off his lap with one last kiss, and grabbed his bag, padding off to the bathroom.

Steven, in the meantime, took off his own clothes and put his new ones on, letting his school stuff crumple to the floor.

 

Hamish changed into fresh clothes and packed away his uniform and brought his bag back to Steven's bedroom. He was dressed in a pair of black jeans and a black button up shirt, top two buttons undone, any self harm or bruising hidden. 

Steven, unsurprisingly, was dressed quite similarly, but instead, he wore a white shirt and white jeans. Put together, the two of them would make quite a nice contrasting image for a photoshoot.

Hamish quirked a brow. "Hey handsome." he smiled. It was heart breaking how handsome Steven was, and Hamish just wasn't, in his opinion. 

Steven looked up and grinned. "Hey gorgeous," he said. The outfit fitted Hamish perfectly, Steven thought to himself as he looked at his boyfriend.

Hamish blushed, rolling his eyes. "Excited for tonight?" he asked curiously,dumping his bag in the corner. 

"Oh yeah," He replied, smiling at Hamish's blush. "Are you excited?"

Hamish nodded. "Yeah. It'll be fun." he smiled. But he was wary. He was such a light weight it was embarrassing.

 

Steven clapped him on the back as the doorbell rang. "That must be the first guests. Come on."

Hamish nodded and began to follow, unwilling to admit just how nervous he was.

Steven opened up the door and a bunch of people came in. Soon, music was blaring in the basement and everything was sorted out of a real party.

Hamish remained close to Steven, helping his boyfriend with anything, getting him a drink if he asked, saying his own hello' s to people he barely knew 

Steven and Hamish stuck together, and when the slower music finally started playing (Steven had hired a DJ), Steven smiled. "Care to dance, Hamish?"

Hamish bit his lip and nodded. "Ah, sure why not?"

Steven grinned and wrapped one arm around Hamish's waist, pulling him in. It was a slow dance, and as ever, Steven led.

Hamish allowed himself to be led, moving with him easily, hands on his chest. 

Steven led him on the dance floor, smiling at Hamish.

Hamish smiled back shyly, blushing a little from the alcohol. 

Steven noticed the blush and pulled Hamish closer, nuzzling his neck softly and planting kisses there, before looking back up, his senses dulled from beer. "You're cute."

Hamish laughed a little, caught.off guard, and more than tipsy. "Why thank you.

Steven smiled and kissed Hamish's forehead tenderly as they swayed together in time with the music.

Hamish gently cupped his hands around the back of Steven's neck, his chest aching at the affection Steven was showing. 

Steven smiled down at him, his hazel eyes soft in the dim light.

Hamish smiled back up at him, leaning up to kiss him softly. He hadn't been so content in far too long

Steven kissed him back softly, smiling as wolf whistles erupted around the two boys.

Hamish blushed deeply and hid his face against Steven's neck, giggling. 

Steven chuckled, and gave a content sigh as he lightly rested his head on Hamish's, grinning at the people around him.

Hamish sighed softly, nuzzling his neck. He lifted his head to murmur in Stevens ear. "Fancy another drink?"

Steven gave a light shrug. "Eh, why not?" He said

Hamish nodded and gave him another sweet kiss before sliding out of his arms to make his way to the kitchen. 

Steven followed him, grinning.

 

Hamish got them a beer each from the cardboard crate sitting on the counter. He still found it all a little.. Too perfect. Maybe it was the fact there were a couple of hundred people around.

Steven took his with a word of thanks, and clinked it together with Hamish's. "Cheers," he said, popping it open, and took a long drink from it. Little did he know that the alcohol levels in his blood were already high enough.

Hamish muttered a 'cheers' as he opened his and took a long pull. He leaned against the counter, pretty close to tipping over. Maybe he should stop after this one. 

Suddenly Steven slammed the can down onto the counter and stumbled over to get another beer, already drunk.

Hamish was ridiculously dizzy and lightheaded. He'd been drunk after his first. Now he was verging twisted. He sipped steadily at the can, watching Steven. "Maybe.. Maybe you've had enough." Hamish slurred. 

Steven turned to face him, eyes flashing angrily. "What?" 

Hamish blinked, eyes going. "I, um.. Nothing." he shook his head quickly, chest tight. 

Suddenly, Steven had grabbed Hamish's collar and was practically breathing down the other boy's neck. "Don't tell me what to do. And if you're so scared, why don't you call your mummy and tell her something's wrong?" He said, before shoving him away, taking a drink from his can and then stalking out back to everyone. He was clearly drunk, but there was nothing Hamish could do about it.

 

Hamish swallowed tightly. That was a harsh blow. And where he'd hit the counter, his hip was aching. He grabbed his drink and went out to the back garden, fumbling with his pack of cigarettes, hands shaking. He'd sobered up considerably. No, no. He didn't want to be sober. Not yet.

 

_ How's everything going, Mish? Just checking. SH _

Hamish was sat on the grass, his earlier buzz from the alcohol turning darker. He smoked rhythmically, leaving thirty seconds between each drag. He fished his phone out, barely able to make out the words if the text, his vision ridiculously blurry. 

_ All good. HWH _

_ Is that why you're smoking? SH _

_ What? HWH _

_ I'm not mad at you. Just get in the car. SH _

Sherlock, who had been shadowing Hamish the whole evening, was sitting in the black vehicle that was parked next to Steven's garden. The detective was unsurprisingly still awake at two in the morning.

Hamish frowned, staring at the text dubiously. 

_ I'm staying. HWH _

He had promised he would. And his things were upstairs. He couldn't just /leave/.

_ Your boyfriend can get a tad bit violent at times, can't he? And I think you need to sober up, Mish. SH _

Hamish rose his gaze to take in his surroundings, before spotting the car. He could see Sherlock's face lit up from the light of his phone. 

_ Neither of those things hold truth.  HWH _

_ Come on, Mish. Get your stuff and get in the car. And don't bluff, I saw everything. I understand if you made a promise, but you can blame it all on me. I love you. SH _

With a grunt, Hamish heaved himself to his feet. He swayed for a moment, head spinning, before he made his way back into the house, working around people, the house packed. He had left his bag in Stevens room and hoped it was still there.

_ Thank you. SH _

Hamish's things were indeed still on Steven's room, but Steven himself was nowhere to be found.

Hamish half wanted to go find him. Let him know he was leaving. He clutched his bag in his hand as he made her way downstairs, frowning at some of the looks he was getting. Did he look off?

 

Sherlock was standing out of sight next to the doorway, waiting for his son.

Hamish paused, spotting Steven across the room. Oh. He felt his blood run cold as he watched Steven, rather enthusiastically, make out with some other lad in the far corner, hands in places Hamish didn't want to think about. He looked away quickly, throat stinging with the threat of tears as he strode out of the house. Well, more like stumbled.

Sherlock saw his son's boyfriend making out with someone who was obviously not Hamish. Sherlock could only imagine what that must feel like. All the times he'd seen John with his girlfriends, and all the while, Sherlock wanting to tell the veteran how much he loved him. So as soon as Hamish staggered  outside and the door closed behind him, Sherlock greeted him with a comforting embrace, wrapping his son around in the folds of his black coat.

Hamish swayed a little, but didn't return the hug. After a moment he stepped out of Sherlock's embrace, his expression utterly vacant. He didn't have the energy to feel anything right now. This wasn't a first and it wouldn't be the last, he knew.

 

"Here," Sherlock said gently, taking Hamish's bag from him, "let me take that." Sherlock steered Hamish to the car, and waited until he was sat down before he started the engine and closed the doors.

Hamish clasped his hands together between his thighs, staring out the window blankly. He didn't utter a word on the way home. He was scared he'd either get sick or start crying. Or worse - both. 

Sherlock chewed the inside of his cheek as he drove. This was going to be a very difficult weekend for the Watson-Holmes family. At last, he reached over and squeezed Hamish's shoulder gently. "It's going to be alright, Hamish," he said. "I know what you're going through."

Hamish flinched away from his touch and remained silent. He had nothing to say. Sherlock had no idea what he was going through. Nobody did. And Hamish wasn't being petulant. He knew for a fact that he didn't.

 

Sherlock sighed softly and drew his hand back. He saw his troubled childhood being mirrored in Hamish more everyday, and he'd be damned if he didn't stop it as soon as possible. But he didn't talk about his past with anyone, not even John. Perhaps he should be the one to talk to Hamish. At school, Sherlock had wasted himself as a teenager. At eighteen, he shone in university, gripping onto his life with a firmer hand. Victoria had inherited his features, insolent attitude and a good portion of his intelligence, whereas Hamish had inherited his teenage mentality, John's bravery, recklessness and a shyer but more reasonable attitude. Sherlock was better at getting his daughter under control when she was being insufferable, and it was the same with John and Hamish, but right now, Sherlock decided he was going to take major responsibility with dealing with what Hamish was going through.

 

When they finally got home, Hamish heaved himself out of the car. He didn't want help. He didn't deserve it. He wasn't enough for anyone anyway. Why bother. He grabbed his bag and unlocked the door himself, walking up the steps and into the flat, head down, hand against the wall to keep his glance. 

  
Sherlock watched Hamish disappear into the flat, his chest tight. He hated seeing Hamish like this; it broke him when he compared Hamish to the little laughing boy who chased butterflies around Hyde Park ten years ago.

 

With a sigh, the detective followed his son into 221B, whipping out his phone to tell John what had happened. Hopefully his husband wasn't asleep yet.


End file.
